I used to wake up
wishing I could sleep forever.
I used to dream of
living in the stars, away from pain,
away from air
and all things human.
I used to dread what I loved most,
used to think of death
with every possible encounter.
I even used to get genuinely mad because
I was still breathing.
I stayed up late most every night
because my mind would not shut up;
it would taunt and whisper
promise peace with just a handful of pills
or a jump off a bridge.
The devil lived inside of my head;
sometimes he comes back for a visit
but not too often lately.
He's left too many thoughts behind,
thoughts he'll never bring back with him
(wherever he goes)
because they're etched
and scarred
in dusty corners
permanent.
I've written a note
the one that says goodbye to everyone I love
the one that people will remember
and cry over most
if I ever wanted them to find it.
It's all there, all these past memories
and tortured thoughts
sprinkled on my personality to stay.
Sometimes it all floods
*every
inch
of
me,*
makes me feel like I'm decaying from the
*inside
out*
but I pull through.
I always pull through
I always come back up for
air.
But Depression,
she's no quitter.
She'll always be here to try and
drown
me.
It's just my choice if she
succeeds.